


In The Middle of My Story (All I Want Is to Feel Alive)

by KitCat992



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Connor Deserves Happiness, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Hank Anderson Swears, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, Whump, deviants feel pain, lots of swearing, what do you expect from Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:22:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25416115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitCat992/pseuds/KitCat992
Summary: While the world struggles to adapt to androids coexisting as living beings, Connor struggles to get a handle on what it even means to be alive. CyberLife didn’t provide him the resources to understand these problematic emotions. At least not the ones he felt.Deviancy was turning out to be a complicated matter, one that no pre-constructing could figure out.And Hank? Well, Hank had been drowning his emotions in the bottom of a bottle for years. He was the last person anyone should turn to for this B.S. On top of it all, he knew jack shit about android’s.But hell, he was starting to learn how to change the settings on his phone.Maybe there was hope for them both after all.(Or: 5 Times Connor Reminded Hank of Fatherhood, and the 1 Time He’d Never Soon Forget)
Relationships: Connor & Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Connor & Sumo
Comments: 35
Kudos: 130





	In The Middle of My Story (All I Want Is to Feel Alive)

**Author's Note:**

> I stumbled into this fandom 2 years too late, but my muse isn't one to just roll over and die.
> 
> If there's still any Hank & Connor fans out there who, like me, have thrown these two into the "father/son" trope, then I hope you enjoy this hot mess.
> 
> On that note, I have realized upon my late-night fanfic search that these two characters are put in a totally different category in this fandom by most fans...but that's not this story and that's not how I roll. If you're looking for that, I kindly advise you look elsewhere. Just 'cause you'll find yourself disappointed and I don't want to waste your time. There's no Hannor or Hankcon here. Again, just a friendly heads up.
> 
> Also, I will DIE on the hill that Deviants feel pain. It may be *different* pain, and I'll happily explore that going forward. But gosh darn it, they feel pain.
> 
> This SHOULD pan out to be a 5+1 story, as this first chapter lays a lot of ground work for what's to come (Blue Ice, Human+Android relationships, ect) Honestly though, if it ends here, it was a good one-shot. It all kinda depends on how the fic is received. My muse is stubborn but it struggles in silence.
> 
> So with all that said, I hope you enjoy! Writing this was a bit out of my comfort zone but I really enjoyed the challenge. And I love these boys to pieces, especially Hank - who lets me unleash my potty mouth in my writing 😆
> 
> Story Title comes from the song lyric of [Lifehouse's "Yesterday's Son"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9o1JBkGZp1Y&list=RD9o1JBkGZp1Y&start_radio=1)

It should have been a simple case.

Cut and dry, really. The boyfriend did it; his fingerprints and DNA samples littered the shithole of an excuse they called a house. Honestly, the DPD didn’t even need Connor to do real-time sampling — _lick the fucking evidence,_ that was, and Hank still couldn’t stomach the sight of his partner putting bodily fluids into his mouth.

Gross motherfucker.

The boyfriend, Kevin Luncenberg, was of course no where to be found, outside of the pictures that cluttered the walls. Likely already making his way to the border, Hank figured, a warrant for his arrest quickly put into the system to keep the murdering prick from ditching the country.

Hank watched as the coroner zipped shut a black body bag, concealing the ghastly gray face of a young girl long since deceased before Detroit Police had ever arrived. Victoria Owens, twenty-two years old. Forensics figured a day, a day and a half before neighbors reported a suspicious smell coming from the home.

In hindsight, the shithole of a house was no different than any other struggling young adult in Detroit; Hank knew full well how much of a bitch financial instability could be. Someone as young as her probably couldn’t find a decent paying job in a country already overwhelmed by unemployment.

And if the asshole of a boyfriend was capable of choking her to death, than it wasn’t very likely he was paying much of the bills either.

Hank stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, a bitter scowl creasing the lines on his face. Shit, twenty-two years old. Days like these, he had a burning hatred for humanity. No good for nothing asswipes running freely in the streets, taking the lives of others without a damn care about it.

It wasn’t like the six o’clock news was flooded with android-on-android crime.

No, just humans. Low life, miserable, fucked-in-the-head humans.

Speaking of androids — Hank looked around, the dusty curtains covering the windows making it hard to see worth shit.

“Connor!” he hollered, peering around the living room corner and into the kitchen. “What the fuck is taking you so long? Let’s go!”

Cause of death had been determined close to an hour ago — two stab wounds to the lower abdomen followed through with a choke-hold that strangled the victim. They wouldn’t be able to discover probable cause until they questioned family and friends, and got their hands on the boyfriend himself.

It was a simple case. Book closed in a matter of minutes.

So what the hell were they still doing here? Hank gave a brief glance to his wrist-watch and — yep, it was way past lunch. Cold-blooded murder case or not, he was starving.

“Just a minute, Lieutenant,” Connor answered from across the way, his expression focused with a far off stare. “There’s something additional I want to check out first.”

Standing quietly in the kitchen, Connor never turned to face him. The light glow of his CyberLife jacket highlighted the specks of dust scattered in the air around them — God, Hank wished the kid was allowed to ditch that damn thing already. The LED of _Android_ lit up alongside his back; it was required attire per Fowler himself.

Fucking bullshit is what it was.

Four months since the revolution and despite allowing Connor to continue work at the DPD, they forced him to identify as an android whenever on the clock. For as much change that had occurred over such a short period of time, they still had miles to go ahead of them.

“C’mon, we’re through here, case is shut,” Hank insisted. “You’ve scanned this place six times over —”

“Seven,” Connor corrected, still not once looking his way. He took a few steps out of sight, the laundry room attached to the kitchen seemingly attracting his attention. “And the residue of cleaning agent left behind on very specific items still remains...puzzling.”

Hank folded his arms across his chest, leaning into the doorway of the kitchen with a huff. “So they thought to actually clean this dump for once, big deal. We all have our moments.”

Connor shook his head.

“It’s not just that. It’s the traces of cleaning agent left behind. Perchloroethylene-bifenthrin, to be exact.” In the laundry room, Connor picked up a single bottle from the top shelf, sitting above the washing machine. It had been hidden beneath three bottles of laundry detergent and softener.

He eyed it intently before taking a step out, showing Hank. “Specifically used to remove all and any traces of Thirium.”

Hank shot an eyebrow high. The obnoxiously large text of _‘_ _Blue Be Gone!’_ couldn’t be missed, even if Connor’s hand covered half of it.

“Wait,” he started, his back stiffening like a board. “You’re telling me at some point —”

“There was Thirium on the television, the floorboards by the stairs, the banister and the entrance leading into the bedroom,” Connor seamlessly interrupted, much to Hank’s annoyance. “My scans would normally detect any lingering evaporated Thirium, however —”

“Mr. Clean scrubbed it all up before it could evaporate. Got it.” Hank moved towards him, still looking at the bottle with disturbing interest. He never thought he’d see the day that _Procter and Gamble_ would create android-specific cleaning solutions.

What a redundant product to piss away money on.

“How long ago you think since the...Perch-a-whatever shit bleached it all away?”

Connor’s focus intensified, his lips pressing tightly together in thought. Within seconds his eyes were bouncing around in a fanatic manner Hank had come to recognize as scanning, analyzing details.

“I’m not sure,” he quietly answered. “The residue of Perchloroethylene-bifenthrin doesn’t appear fresh, but it also doesn’t show signs of degeneration. It was certainty applied to the surfaces long before the Thirium could self-evaporate, possibly mere minutes after the Thirium made contact. My scans estimate somewhere between twenty-four and forty-eight hours.”

With a skeptical hum sounding from his throat, Hank pushed himself off from the doorway.

“So, there was an android here at some point.”

It was a statement, not a question.

Connor locked eyes with him.

“Not only was there an android here, but it was damaged. Either it, or someone else, cleaned up the Thirium before evaporation could take effect. They were hiding something.”

The television, the stairs, the banister — Hank did a quick glance around, mildly pissed that forensics hadn’t picked up any of these details themselves. The overpaid son of bitches in CSI were starting to get lazy now that Conner was participating in more of these crime scenes. Shit, he could see two of them outside having a smoke break right now.

“Now hold up, wait a second.” Hank flopped a hand around in the air. “An android would know that blue blood doesn’t need to be cleaned. It’s a waste of time, shit disappears in hours.”

“Correct.” Connor tilted his head to the side, slowly setting down the bottle of _‘Blue-be-gone!’_ on the kitchen counter. “Unless the victim or her boyfriend were using Thirium for their own illegal purposes —”

Hank waved him off.

“Nah, these white trailer trash dirt heads weren’t making Blue Ice,” he dismissed the theory. “Way above their brains. Now, if they were _using_ that shit or not...well, hell, that’s a whole other story.”

Connor shook his head, brushing past him to get access to the living room.

“There were no traces of any illegal substances on Victoria Owens body, nor was there any found through-out the property.” Connor watched silently for a moment as the coroner wheeled the victim’s corpse outside of the small, two-story house. “There also appears to be no clues leading Victoria or Kevin Luncenberg to those producing Blue Ice on the streets. It’s safe to presume the Thirium residue here has no ties to whoever is manufacturing and supplying this new drug.”

Hank huffed, saying nothing further. He crossed his arms over his chest again, letting his hands dig deep into his armpits.

It had only been a few months now since the DPD had been on the Blue Ice case. Hell, it had only been a few months since Blue Ice came into existence, the death toll skyrocketing the moment it hit the streets. It didn’t take long to figure out what it was, and what it could do.

Pharmaceutical scientists were calling it the sister of Red Ice. Instead of being a stimulant — an upper — Blue Ice had the opposite effect. A downer. The next Fetanyl, one that would drown an already overwhelmed city unable to get their heads above water from a lingering drug crisis.

And it used a hell of a lot more Thirium than Red Ice could even dream of.

It burned Hank, knowing it was out there, that they hadn’t caught the culprit yet. Red Ice was bad enough; that shit lit a fire under his ass for most of his career. But now to add this into the mix?

He scoffed, briefing looking down at his shoes. Humanity — no good for nothing asswipes, low life, miserable, fucked-in-the-head humans chasing their next high.

“So whacha thinkin?” Hank finally asked, his voice rumbling like stone.

Connor looked away from the entrance of the home, only a slight crease to his brow giving way to his thoughts.

“I don’t know.”

He studied the living room again, though Hank couldn’t tell if he was scanning, analyzing, or simply observing. The only giveaway was the whirring yellow illuminated on his temple, his LED steady with a concentrating pulse.

Gently, and slowly, his two hands rubbed against each other, circling over and around as he paced the furniture of the living room.

Finally, Connor looked to the ceiling. His eyes stayed there for a moment, before finally he stated,

“I’m going to check upstairs. One more time.”

Hank frowned, giving a dramatic shrug. “Knock yourself out.”

Connor was already half-way up the stairs by the time Hank answered him. It wasn’t like telling him _‘no’_ would’ve done shit.

Half the DPD had left the house, most of forensics were gone as well. It would just be him up there, eyeing the spot where a blood-soaked comforter had been removed from a bed that was no longer occupied. The crime scene was closing, as all evidence had been collected and the next steps were in place to find their suspect.

They had looked through the property more times than Hank could keep track of. Connor said so himself, he scanned the place seven times over. Was it eight now? Shit, Hank couldn’t keep count.

Still, Hank knew better than to question the android when he felt something was awry. It was something they both had come to learn diligently since the revolution, since deviancy brought life to sentient beings.

Connor didn’t just think anymore, he wasn’t just a program built to obey orders. He was feeling.

And Hank would never be one to tell someone not to trust their gut if they felt something was wrong.

“Hey, Hank!”

Hank craned his neck up, catching sight of Ben standing in the doorway of the house. His thumb was pointing over his shoulder, to the outside where the sun shined a little too brightly compared to the dreary house they stood in.

“I’m heading back to the precinct, gunna escort forensics with the evidence. You coming?” he asked.

Hank shook his head, his eyes pointing up to the ceiling. “Not yet. You know the kid, wants to check every nook and cranny before we —”

_CRASH!_

_SLAM!_

_THUD!_

Earsplitting sounds from upstairs nearly stole the wind right out of Hank’s lungs.

“Shit — _guh!_ ”

“Don’t c-come a-any closer —!”

“Lieute _nant_!”

Hank was already bolting up the stairs when he heard Connor’s strained cursing, his feet leaping two steps at a time. Ben was a hair’s breadth behind him, clutching his service weapon as Hank fumbled for his.

“Detroit Police, stay where you are!” Hank shouted.

The burning in his knees wasn’t even a thought he could entertain, not as his legs surged in a straight line for the bedroom door up ahead. It was slammed shut, closed with fractured wood pieces sprinkling down to the floorboards.

Son of a bitch thought he could lock himself away into safety. Hell no — Hank was one second away from body slamming the door open, guns blazing.

“I s-said don’t c-come any closer!” The panicked voice practically screamed from inside, frightened, pitched at the edges. Crackling and full of rough, hazy static.

It wasn’t Connor. But whoever it was, they weren’t human.

Hank flipped the safety off his gun. They had just found their android.

“And I said this is Detroit Police, so open the fucking —!”

“It’s okay, Lieutenant…”

Connor’s voice managed to break through the barrier between them, a feat considering how low and garbled his words came out. The strong, bold confidence that normally lined his tone wasn’t there. Something different took its place, something small, full of shallow air and thin determination.

If Hank didn’t know better, he’d say it sounded weak.

Fuck. His hands gripped his gun tighter as his muscles began to tense, dread coiling tight in the pit of his stomach.

“My name is Connor…”

Hank could hear them talking through the door, most of the sounds muted and muffled, too softly spoken to get a good catch on all of it. Yet Connor’s distinct and worn greeting could be audible from miles away.

“I’m an android...like you. Sent by the...Detroit Police...Department.”

“I – I didn’t m-mean to – y-you scared –” The static increased, a flurry of sparking white noise. “T-tell them — tell them to s-stay away!”

“Lieutenant,” Connor seemed to be speaking directly to the door, raising his voice the best that he could manage. “His stress levels are...too high. He’ll self-destruct...and we’ll get nothing from him.”

Hank shot a look over to Ben, who was already speaking quietly into the radio attached onto his shoulder. Seven other police officers had lined up the stairs behind them, one on each step, guns in hands and ready to attack.

Their options were limited. Two, at best, until more backup arrived. They could plow through, detain the mysteriously appearing android and now-suspect, and deal with the consequences that came from their actions.

Or they could do this Connor’s way.

Ben raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for his command.

Goddammit. Sometimes he hated the role of Lieutenant.

A beat passed before Hank made a decision. Quietly, and without any words, he shooed the officers away, and then again when they refused to move. Their feet made practically no sounds as they retreated, and at the same time, he could hear the conversation continue inside the bedroom.

“They’re gone.” The throaty wheeze that accompanied Connor’s voice almost had Hank wondering if it belonged to the other android. Something wasn’t right with how he was speaking. “It’s just you...and me...and my partner who is standing...right outside this door.”

Conner spoke with rasped breathing, a hissing accompanying every space between his words.

Hank swore a string of curses under his breath. It sounded like a balloon deflating when the kid talked, like a goddamn fan was on the verge of crapping out. What he could hear sounded awful, and what he couldn’t see was sending him into a spiral of rage. He needed to get in there, _yesterday._

“Make h-him leave t-too!” Something clattered as the panicked android shouted, an object of heavy sorts tumbling onto the wooden floor. “Just...j-just us. No humans, n-none of them!”

“I can’t do that,” Connor insisted, a momentarily lapse of strength returning to his voice. “He’s my partner...and I’ve taken damage —”

“I-I didn’t mean to! I t-thought you were — I t-thought...”

Hank clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding so hard he felt they might crack.

Fucking hell, what the shit was going on in there?

“Hey! You! What’s your name?” Hank didn’t intend to come off as such an asshole. Yet again, when did he never not? The goddamn stress of not knowing what was going on had his nerves shot and fried to a crisp.

This was _exactly_ why he didn’t do negotiator situations. He wasn’t trained for this, he didn’t have the patience for this.

“I’m not —” The android seemed confused, more startled than angry. “I don’t a-answer to y-you!”

“Then answer to me. What’s your name?” Connor was quick to jump in, his tone much more calm and persuasive than Hank’s — and thank whatever imaginary higher beings existed for it, because Hank knew if he kept talking, he’d get them both killed.

The pause that followed gave enough time for him to notice that Connor’s distraught wheezing seemed to have mostly vanished. Though as he pressed his ear firmly against the door, Hank had to wonder if the kid turned off some of his inner-machinery-shit to keep the negotiation going.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Hank couldn’t say for sure, he could only guess, and he couldn’t tell because he was _on the other fucking side of the room._

“S-Seth.” The answer finally came after a beat too long. “M-my name is S-Seth.”

It didn’t speak much to his comfort, but the other android sounded tenfold worse than Connor, a stuttering mess of static that at times neared a pitch so high Hank felt his eardrums ache.

Even without having eyes on what was going on, it was safe to assume where the blue blood had come from.

“Listen to me very carefully, Seth.” There was a small amount of movement, a scooting that creaked the wooden floorboards. “I’m going to lean over, and I’m going to open this door —”

“D-don’t!”

“— and my partner is going to come in here.”

Hank’s finger automatically went to the trigger of his gun. There was more movement, inches by inches, slowly but surely getting closer to where his ear was pressed.

“P-please, no!” The desperation that seeped through broken crackles of static electricity was almost palpable, borderline human. “N-no one else, p-please!”

Hank did the quickest of glances down the stairs, content that most of the officers were still on guard, guns still out, prepared to move at any notice. They didn’t leave a singe inch of space between them in the living room, the once nearly-empty house quickly becoming packed at the arising situation.

Good, he noted. Because he didn’t know what the shit Connor had up his sleeve right about now.

“He’s going to have a gun, but it’s going to be in his holster,” Connor spoke so matter-of-factly that Hank had to bite his tongue not to shout back.

That was _not_ what he had in mind.

With a scowl and much to his discontent, he pocketed the gun away. Plastic son of a bitch better know what he was doing.

“I don’t l-like that,” Seth rushed out. “I d-don’t want t-that.”

“I know you don’t,” Conner was getting closer, and Hank took a step back from the door in preparation. His hand still hovered over his holster, the anticipation of the unknown too heavy on his shoulders.

“But I need him, Seth. I need his help.”

The tremors that shook Connor’s voice was enough to make Hank’s stomach twist into knots, every ounce of him screaming to burst through right then and there. The only thing keeping his feet rooted in place was the unknown standing behind him that goddamn door. And whatever mess Connor had managed to find on the other side.

What the fuck had they missed before. How the hell did _this_ happen?

“I d-didn’t m-mean to —”

“It’s okay, you were afraid, I know that.” Connor’s voice was as close as Hank figured it’d be getting, his body rattling against the old, wooden door as he fumbled for the knob. “But everything you do from this point forward is your decision, one not made out of fear. So...I’m going to open this door. And you won’t do anything you’ll regret. Okay?”

There were no protests that Hank could hear, no scampering, and no violent attacks that came in disagreement. Silver linings, as bleak as that silver looked to be. After all, any other violent and deranged suspect may have already blown Connor into tiny plastic pieces.

Hank’s finger twitched above the handle to his gun, resisting the urge to grip it in his hands.

The doorknob slowly twisted and rattled, and in a mere three seconds, Hank managed to process every bit of information he could.

There were no shots fired — no guns. There was a loud disturbance, crashing and slamming. Connor was injured, as was the perpetrator. There was a weapon of some sort — there had to be. The perpetrator, Seth, an android — was startled, but he wasn’t showing signs of violence.

They had the upper hand on this.

Hank let his hand ease away from his holster, a heavy pressure forming in his chest as he waited for the door to slowly spring open.

It barely managed a crack, a small smidgen that gave way to the barrier between them.

Hank was careful not to throw it open, to not barge in with his gun held high and a slew of threats streaming out of his throat. That’s what he _wanted_ to do, anyway. He forced calm instead, forced gentle steps as he entered the bedroom.

The first thing he noticed was right in front of him.

Seth, he rightfully presumed seeing as the android clearly wasn’t Connor, stood by the nightstand with his back slouched and eyes wide. There was a straight cut across his neck, his robotic throat partially exposed with sparks of blue wires and electricity that crackled and popped.

And holy mother of _fuck,_ was that a goddamn sledgehammer in his hands?

“Hank…”

Hank shot his head over to the sound, distorted and warbled and every bit as wrong as he could ever imagine.

A _thud_ immediately followed its path, Conner’s backside hitting the wall with heavy force as he slid down to the ground, his knees giving out underneath him.

“Shit, Connor!”

Hank was moving before the words ever left his mouth. The entire four steps it took to reach the wall dragged on for an eternity, and by the time he crouched low to meet Connor’s eye level, he realized he had no idea what the hell he should do.

His hands hovered in the air, unsure of what to touch and where.

Connor was green. Not in any figurative sense, the kid was painted goddamn green.

Hank gave him a once-over, and then again when he failed to comprehend what in God’s given name he was seeing. _Green,_ like a tree, slick with paint that drenched his hair and covered most his face, shirt and even pants.

Bewildered wasn’t enough to describe the confusion that ate away at his brain.

Connor smeared a hand along his forehead, only managing to make a bigger mess in the process. His face remained pinched and tight as he did his best to point with his eyes, leading Hank in the direction of the bed.

Hank craned his neck around. He squinted, noting that the large can of paint that laid abandoned by the bed — now more than empty, having coated Connor with the colors of the forest. It had a good size dent in it, leaking out what little dribbles of contents remained.

Well, that would explain at least one of the noises they’d heard. Ambushed by a paint can, of all things. If the situation still weren’t so tense, Hank may have laughed.

“I-I d-didn’t...d-didn’t mean t-to…” Panic laced through every bit of hoarse static in Seth’s words.

Right. Situation, still very not-okay. Hank looked his way, refusing to stand despite his knees already screaming in protest. His hands still hovered over Connor, over the deep green that coated him and his clothes.

If there was blue blood leaking anywhere, Hank couldn’t see it for shit. And Connor didn’t seem eager to talk and explain.

It wasn’t long before Hank realized why, at the same time he realized Seth was still gripping the sledgehammer. Literal white knuckles held onto it tightly, his grip so firm that the synthetic skin around his knuckles had faded, showcasing the white material underneath.

_Shit._

That’s where the other noise had originated from.

“Seth…” Hank started slowly, standing even slower. “Why don’t you put that down? Somewhere that it can’t —”

“No!” Seth hissed, briefly clenching his eyes shut before forcing them back open. The green’s of his irises were almost as vivid as the paint that doused Conner from head to toe. “H-humans d-damaged me b-before. U-unprepared. W-won’t h-h-h-happen again.”

A short burst of sparks came flying from the gash in his throat, and for a second, Seth clenched the sledgehammer tighter, frenzied panic washing through his eyes.

Hank almost couldn’t blame him; he’d be a hot mess too if someone dared to attempt a beheading on him.

“No...no, it won’t,” Hank agreed, cautiously taking one step forward, hands out placaintingly. “I’m not here to hurt you. Connor, there? He’s my partner, he told you that. He’s an android, like you. I don’t hurt androids. I don’t think we’d make good partners if I went around doing... _that_...to all you guys.”

Seth cocked his head to the side, unmoving even as Hank took another step forward. The floorboards creaked under the pressure of his shoes.

“Even so. No reason to hurt someone who just...looks like they’ve been caught up in a mess they didn’t ask to be a part of.”

There was something that Hank recognized in Seth’s expression, android or not.

Trust.

Panicked, agitated, and provoked, but it was there nonetheless.

That was good — hell, that was great. They needed that going forward. All he had to do was pretend this was an interrogation and _not_ a possible hostage situation that involved a goddamn sledgehammer, of which had likely already made a permanent dent in his partner.

Hank couldn’t keep himself from sparing Connor a glance. Androids and sledgehammers weren’t exactly a mix he cared to think about.

The wall Connor pressed himself up against was starting to stain with the paint along his back, and his right arm was wrapped tightly around his left side. The point of impact, no doubt. He was making no immediate moves to get on his feet — not that Hank blamed him. If it was anyone else, they’d be out for the count.

He knew it had to be bad for Connor to this incapacitated, for him to need Hank to take the drivers seat on the negotiator role he was designed to excel at. _Designed._ Goddamn built for it. Hank spent years training and still couldn’t negotiate worth shit.

The old song and dance of _‘android’s don’t feel pain’_ was already ringing like an ear-worm in his head

Android’s sure as hell didn’t feel pain. Deviants, as they were slowly discovering, happened to be a different story.

“Where were you hiding, Seth?” Hank quietly asked, turning back to face him head-on.

Seth hesitated. His bottom lip quivered, and the sledgehammer swung slightly in his grip, not by intention. Nerves trembled his entire core, his arms shaking as his eyes slid up to the ceiling above them.

Finally, they stayed there, locked on the hole where the attic could be seen by all.

“I checked up there.” Connor grunted as he leaned favorably to one side, struggling to lever himself up with hands that smeared paint against the walls. The effort proved to be too much; he collapsed back down, swallowing the sounds that threatened to emerge from his lips. “I didn’t see you. Nothing was found in my scans.”

“There’s a-a-a...t-there’s a c-crawl s-s-space. H-hidden. Secret.” Seth bowed his head low, the dirty bangs across his forehead dropping and hiding his eyes from view. “S-s-she showed m-me.”

Hank shot his head around fast enough to give himself whiplash. Connor was already trying to stand again, locking eyes on him in a way that said everything their words couldn’t.

“You knew Victoria?” Connor managed to get halfway up before his knees buckled again, and his green-slick hand slipped on the wall. Hank barely made it to his side in time, gripping his forearm to help keep the balance.

In his haste, his other arm grabbed Connor’s side, a rushed attempt to keep the detective from falling flat on his ass. If the caved-in plastic didn’t tell him everything he needed to know, the short-lived yelp that tore from Connor’s throat did.

“ _Gah_ —!”

“Shit, Connor!”

“Oh g-god, I d-d-did that!” Seth dropped the sledgehammer at the same time Connor cried out, gripping his hair in a panic. “Oh n-no, I-I’m s-sorry, I’m —”

“Seth! Victoria? Did you know her or not?” Hank snapped, the pressure of the moment getting too far underneath his skin. Any patience he had remaining went flying out the window the moment his hands felt a _dent_ on his partner, deeper than the dent on the fender of his car way back when a garbage truck smashed into his rear end.

Jesus Christ, he was comparing Connor to his old piece-of-shit car. Where the hell had this day gone.

Conner noticed his stress, using what he could of Hank’s body to regain his footing before letting go.

“Hank…” he said softly, close to his ear. “His stress levels are rising. Agitating him into an answer isn’t ideal.”

Across the bedroom, Seth was still freaking out, hands pulling at his hair as he muttered repeatedly to himself. Unlike Connor, there was no LED attached to his temple to gauge his status, no signs outside of his physical demonstration to determine how close to the brink he was getting.

Hank had only seen an android self-destruct once before. It wasn’t something he cared to see again.

“Then what are you waiting for!” Hank wiped his hands against the front of his pants, staining his jeans green. “Do what you do best, for crying out loud!”

Connor seemed to take a moment, the rush of it all at a pause despite Seth’s agitation seemingly getting worse by the second.

There was once a time — many months back and shortly after the revolution occurred, permanently changing Detroit and the world with it — where Connor had taken the time to explain some of his systems to Hank. It was after kid had gotten shot, that much Hank recalled. He also managed to run five miles straight, catching the crook who had tried to escape by using a round full of bullets.

When asked how the living fuck he managed to do just that, Connor said something about _‘power diverting’_ or some bullshit.

Hank couldn’t remember the mumbo-jumbo behind it now — hell, he barely managed to retain what he could back then. But it was something about shutting down unnecessary functions and diverting the power to what he needed most at that time.

Staring at Connor’s chest, slabbed and tainted with green paint, Hank realized his initial assumption had been correct. He shut off his ventilation system — goddamn plastic bastard stopped himself from breathing. He was doing everything he could just to _stand_ right now.

As if reading his thoughts, Connor craned his neck around and gave him a curt nod. It was unfortunate that most of his expression was hidden beneath the thick paint still dripping down his face. Hank wasn’t sure if it’d be comforting either way.

“Seth…” Connor started slowly. “You’re damaged, too. For how long?”

When Seth looked up, his hands were still tugging relentlessly at his hair, and artificial saline tears cascaded down his face like a pipe had sprung leak in his optical units.

“I-I d-d-didn’t m-mean to h-hurt you. I thought you w-were h-him.”

Hank stepped forward. “Who’s him?”

Connor stopped him, holding a hand out in his direction, nearly smacking him directly in the chest. The unspoken order was loud and clear — don’t get involved.

Hank resisted the urge smack Connor’s hand somewhere into next week.

“You thought I was someone else. That’s okay,” Connor started up again, keeping his attention strictly focused on Seth. “You thought we were gone, right? When I returned upstairs, I startled you. You were scared.”

Seth could only nod, shaky and uneven as he did. The simple act alone was dangerous, his throat putting on a light-show full of damaged circuitry of misfiring wires.

Connor gripped his side tighter, forcing his words out through a swallowed grunt. “How long since your laryngeal voice modulator was damaged?”

The question seemed to stir something in Seth. His hand hovered briefly over his throat, never coming close to touching the damaged plastic that still set off flickers of sparks and bursts of short-circuited wires.

“I…” he trailed off, eyes bouncing between Connor and Hank. “T-t-thirty-six h-h-hours, three m-m-minutes, twenty-t-t-two seconds.”

“You said _he_ did it. You thought I was _him,_ ” Connor paused, coordinating his next step to be taken without any words. “Seth, who did this to you?”

Frantically, Seth shook his head. Hank instinctively covered his eyes at the outlandish bout of flares that came flying from the open throat so close to them.

“I-I-I can’t s-s-say. H-h-he will c-c-come back. He w-w-will h-hurt me a-a-again.”

It was Connor’s turn to shake his head. “Only if you don’t tell us. If we don’t know, we can’t protect you from him.”

Despite the reassurance, Seth continued to shake his head. The movements seemed to ease over time, and Hank didn’t need Connor’s ability to scan to tell that slowly, the android’s stress levels were coming down. Remaining steady, at the very least.

Every step Connor took towards him was a testament to that. His footsteps were cautious, but confident nonetheless, even with his arm wrapped so tightly around his side.

“Okay...we don’t have to talk about him right now,” Connor kept his voice soft and low, to the point that the shuffling from police in the living room was more audible than what he was saying. “What about Victoria? Victoria Owens? This house belongs to her mother, she rented it from her and lived here.”

Seth froze at the mention of the name, his eyes growing wide, and his limbs freezing in place. If Hank didn’t know better, he’d say the damn android shut down.

Connor did know better. He shifted on his feet, his head tilting slightly to the side.

“Seth...we’re here investigating her murder. Is there anything you can tell us about what happened to Victoria?”

It was a simple question, redundant and obvious. One Hank would have asked from the very beginning, seeing as they just caught a _suspect_ in the home of a murder victim. He may not be a negotiator, but Christ, it just seemed textbook to get to the point. It almost irritated Hank that enough time had passed for more squad cars to park outside — he could hear the ruckus from outside through the thin sheetrock walls.

But again, he wasn’t a negotiator. Never had the patience for that shit. Never had the compassion.

Connor? Hank could almost feel a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. Damn kid was built for this, even with a dent the size of a his foot making a mark in his abdomen.

Seth faltered on his feet, his head dropping low, his hands dangling uselessly at his sides.

“I...I…” He looked up, fresh streams of saline washing down his cheeks. When he spoke again, his voice cracked at the edges, distorted from a damaged voice synthesizer long overdue for repairs. “I l-loved her.”

Whatever reactions they had on their face — and Hank knew his was the epitome of _what the fuck_ — seemed to increase the android’s stress levels. He stumbled away until his back hit the end-table next the bed.

“A-and she l-loved me! S-she did!” he insisted, practically implored for their belief. “S-she was with h-him, but s-she hated him. He h-hurt her! B-beat her, a-abused her! S-so...we m-m-made plans, we were going to cross the b-b-border. Start f-f-fresh. Start n-n-new. Together.”

The current from his managed module, hanging loosely out of his throat, continued to flare with hot sparks that lit the room brighter than the dim sunshine seeping through the curtains of the bedroom. The breaks and fractures that splintered in every syllable of Seth’s confession could have easily been blamed on the gut-wrenching slit that had been drawn against the white plastic to his throat.

But Hank done this job long enough to know different.

There was emotion there, caked in every word.

Androids finding love with each other had been one thing, had been the thing that finally got him to see clearly about deviants and who they really were.

Humans loving androids?

Well, shit.

Hank shot his head over to Connor, gauging for an expression to try and understand what he could possibly be thinking. Hell, Hank had no idea what _he_ was thinking right now. He’d seen a lot of weird crap over the course of his career, but the last four months were proving to outrank everything that came before.

Besides a slight furrow to his drenched-green eyebrows, Connor remained otherwise neutral.

“How long were you with Victoria?” he asked.

Seth visibly swallowed, the struggle that came with it physically noticeable. “F-five months.”

Connor looked him up and down — Hank couldn’t tell if he was scanning the android or not. The LED on his temple whirled a bright yellow, visible even through the green paint that started to stain his synthetic skin.

He looked to the bed, where his eyes stayed even as he asked, “And how long since Kevin Luncenberg discovered the truth about your relationship?”

The raw simplicity of how Connor asked the question had Hank raising an eyebrow high into his hairline.

Seth didn’t blink. “T-t-thirty-six h-h-hours, e-eight m-m-minutes, t-twelve seconds.”

Realization crept up through Hank’s body like a slithering snake, starting slow at his toes until it rushed through his head. He cocked his head to the side, jaw slightly agape as it all finally clicked together.

“He assaulted you,” Hank said, gesturing to Seth’s throat. “He did...that, to you.”

Seth nodded.

Connor gave Hank a sideways glance before continuing.

“Victoria’s murder,” he pressed. “Seth, did you see Kevin murder Victoria?”

They had crossed a line again, or so Hank assumed. Seth scrambled to get further away, his feet moving uselessly as his back pressed tightly against the nightstand behind him.

Fuck, Hank didn’t think android’s could get PTSD. What he hell was next? At this point, nothing the day could throw him would be a surprise.

Connor brought his hands up higher, somehow making himself seem less of a threat with such a simple gesture.

“You could help us, Seth,” he said, his tone nearing a softness that didn’t seem possible. “You could help bring justice to Victoria.”

Seth gripped the edges of the nightstand with enough strength to flake wooden chips onto the floor. “C-c-can’t s-say. H-he’ll c-come back. K-kill me. T-too risky.”

Connor shook his head. “We’ll protect you.”

“You d-d-don’t protect a-a-android’s.”

Unable to stand still any longer, Hank stepped forward, intentionally drawing closer to Connor. He chose to ignore how taunt Connor’s shoulders had gotten, enough tension to his frame that he wondered if the poor guys arms were about to pop right out of their biocomponent sockets.

“Yeah, well, we do now,” Hank firmly, and honestly, insisted.

Seth’s eyes bounced between the two of them, optical units unable to land strictly on one thing for quite some time.

Connor remained patient even as they fought a battle with stress levels that Hank couldn’t see. Slowly, he lowered his arms back to his sides — favorably gripping his left, where Hank could see his forearm noticeably cave in to meet the depth of the dent. He made no sound despite it, no grunts or groans.

He simply waited.

Patience was a virtue, and when Seth spoke again, Hank couldn’t be happier than Connor had it.

“W-we loved e-each other,” Seth croaked, his body growing languid. “W-we were g-going to l-live...happy together.”

For once, and to Hank’s surprise, Connor didn’t have a response.

The silence that filled the room was suffocating. Far from genuine; the whole cadre of units outside were still sounding a ruckus, and paint sill dripped from Connor’s clothes down onto the floor in large _plops._

It was the longest quiescence that had fabricated between them, thick and uneasy, unnerving at best.

With reluctance, Seth released his grip on the nightstand. His arms fell uselessly at his sides, dangling without control.

“N-now she’s gone.” His eyes were locked low where they couldn't be seen, his chin bowed to his chest. “A-and I don’t w-want to live anymore.”

When Seth finally looked up, his eyes were glossy with liquid and his cheeks were stained with saline.

He blinked owlishly at them both. “N-not without her.”

Suddenly, he extended his arm out to Connor, nearly making Hank rip his gun straight out of his holster. Yet there was no weapon in his hands, nothing that could cause either of them any harm. He simply reached out, the synthetic skin peeling back until it was all white, what little sun peeked through the curtains glistening along the plastic.

“P-p-please,” Seth begged. “S-shut me d-down.”

Hank breathed out a curse, unable to stop himself as he looked away and ran a hand down the length of his face. There was nothing he could say in response to that, absolutely nothing that felt appropriate, or comforting, or goddamn even close to reassuring.

Connor remained silent. It made Hank feel a _tad_ bit better about his own inability to say anything worth shit.

The arm stayed gestured towards him, hanging in the air, awaiting a deathly touch that would end any misery felt.

Connor simply stared at it, pointed in his direction so freely, without any guard.

Hank was one millisecond away from jumping between the two, knocking Seth’s arm away with a handful of curses he knew the android wouldn’t be offended by.

Finally, Connor looked up. He moved forward, leaning in towards Seth. For a split second Hank could have sworn his heart stopped at the very idea of _that_ happening.

But Connor never touched his hand, or his arm. He placed a palm on his shoulder instead, tilting his chin low to meet his eyes.

“You’ve had a very rough thirty-six hours, twelve minutes, and sixteen seconds. I think it’s best that you come with us before you make any decisions like that,” Connor told him, moving his head down even lower when Seth averted his gaze. “We have a technician back at the DPD. They will do what they can to repair the damage to your biocomponents, if you agree to upload your memory banks to our servers. Your presence here and what your systems recorded will give us everything we need to find who did this to you and to Victoria, and put him behind bars for life.”

Seth’s arm still lingered in the air, though it developed a slight tremor, shaking with each rattled exhale that puffed from his chest.

He still refused to look up, his head hanging low as if nothing existed to keep it upright.

Hank sighed, louder than he wanted or expected. A slow step brought him directly next to Connor, and awkwardly, he folded two hands across his chest.

“It’s what your girl would’ve wanted from you, don’t you think?” he tried to speak without feeling like every word he said was wrong and foreign coming off his lips. “Sometimes...shit, sometimes we keep going after losing our loved ones because...because it’s what they would’ve wanted from us. I think...I think your Victoria would’ve wanted you to keep going. Hell, I _know_ she would’ve wanted that. It’s what love is. And you two...you really seemed in love.”

With his hand staying firmly on Seth’s shoulder, Connor turned his head slightly towards Hank, the mild surprise noticeable even through the smears of paint on his face.

Hank could have sworn he also saw a slight tug of a smile, but that could have been the paint as well.

Finally, Seth dropped his arm. It smacked against his hip with a resounding effect, and slowly but surely, he nodded.

“I-I-I’ll give you m-my d-data b-banks. I-I’ll give y-you whatever y-you need,” he conceded. “S-she’s...she w-was worth that.”

The relief that came was goddamn palpable, almost dizzying – though as Hank inhaled deeply, he nearly choked on the harsh air of paint fumes and residue blood, likely adding to the lightheaded feeling.

“That’s a good choice,” Hank said, adding a more confident, “the _right_ choice.”

Connor nodded in agreement, releasing his hold on Seth’s shoulder to let Hank take over. Gently, and with tentative movements, Hank grabbed hold of Seth’s bicep and began to lead him out of the room.

“C’mon now, you’re going to be taking a ride with us,” he said softly, before turning his head towards the staircase and shouting a much louder, “All clear! Stand down!”

They managed to reach the doorway to the bedroom when Seth stopped, his legs locking in place. Hank didn’t force him to keep walking, despite his own instincts being to tug and pull. Rather, he came to a halt himself.

It was one last look. Hank could tell before he even gave Seth a once-over, the reflection in his eyes giving way to a look he’d seen thousands of times before.

“W-w-we were g-going to p-paint the p-place. B-before we l-left,” Seth quietly admitted. “A s-surprise...a s-surprise for her m-m-other. Better c-chance of s-selling the p-place.”

Hank frowned, squeezing the android’s arm to encourage him to leave. When he didn’t move, Hank realized he was staring somewhere else now — at Connor, still off by the bed, the drops of green falling from his clothes having lessened their pace over the course of whatever nightmarish time had been spent in the room.

Aside from turning to face them both, Connor hadn’t budged a centimeter. Everything about him seemed off, almost eerie. He seemed more out of it than Seth, his arm was still wrapped snugly around his waist, protectively and with more tenderness than before.

“Connor?” Hank’s lips pressed tightly together with worry. “You coming?”

Just like that, the wheezing he’d heard from behind closed doors had returned. The first intake of air from Connor wasn’t a gasp, but after spending so long without breathing — cooling fans, whatever the hell they wanted to call it — it was noticeable.

And it sounded downright _painful._

“Just a moment, Lieutenant,” Connor managed, his voice was low and thready. “I just...need a moment.”

He began to slowly settle down on the bed behind him, unintentionally staining the bare mattress with paint. It wasn’t a concern for either of them at the present moment. With his arm still hugging his bad side, Connor let himself slouch forward until his elbows touched his knees.

Hank held back a grimace. The shit this kid did to complete his missions.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” Seth suddenly spoke up. “I d-didn’t mean to d-damage you.”

Connor stilled himself, unable to raise his head any more than what his systems would allow. He managed a smile, a brief one, the kind Hank noticed would only barely tug at his lips before disappearing completely.

Seth returned the grin, equally as weak and halfhearted.

“It w-would have b-been a g-good c-color for the h-house.”

While Hank furrowed his brows, Connor looked down at his arms. The green still dripped freshly off his synthetic skin, and with a single finger, he smeared it away from the top of his hand off to the side.

“Yeah…” Connor said quietly. “I think...it would have.”

One final tug was all it took to get Seth moving. Before retreating down the stairs, as he stood far away and out of the bedroom, Hank gave Connor one last look.

Even at the distance of a wide length into the hallway, the spinning circles of yellow flashing across his temple could be seen. Hank had no doubt the contemplative color was struggling to process all the new information he’d received.

It’d be a while before Hank understood anything himself.

All and all, it should have been a simple case.

* * *

As it turned out, _‘just a moment’_ ended up being twenty-eight minutes that resulted in two officers helping Hank get Connor down the stairs of the shithole house that green paint would have never fixed in a million decades.

“Ya know,” Hank grunted, kicking open the front door to his small, Detroit home. “It amazes me that there are still dumb-asses out there who don’t know shit about your Thirium. _Blue Be Gone?_ A fuckin’ scam is what that is, horseshit like that shouldn’t be legal!”

Getting through the entrance was something else, what with Hank squeezing himself _and_ Connor through the door at the same time. There simply wasn’t enough room to barrel through together, with Connor having his arm swung over Hank’s shoulder, much to his protests. The older man acted as his crutch to get him from the car and into the house.

If Sumo noticed their struggle, he didn’t care.

“Down boy!” Hank shouted, kicking a dog toy out of the way. It was the perfect distraction, the large St. Bernard immediately chasing after the squeaky item that flew somewhere far off into the kitchen.

“The market seems to be...incredibly eager to profit off of...android related products...now that Cyberlife has gone bankrupt.” Connor’s jaw locked tightly as they made their way inside, careful to remove his shoes before going any further.

Every bit of him was still coated in green, though most of it had dried and flaked off into crumbly pieces. Hank wasn’t much cleaner himself, having insisted that Connor be helped inside — not that Connor could put up much of a fight, seeing as it took him a goddamn half and hour to get inside the precinct on his own.

To say it had been a long day would be the biggest understatement of Hank’s year. And he’d had a pretty crazy year so far.

“Besides,” Connor grabbed the nearest object for support as Hank released his arm from around his shoulder. “Most humans still remain...uneducated on the most basic understandings of androids. You yourself...were not aware that Thirium evaporated...until I informed you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut it already, will you?” Hank shrugged off his coat, ditching it somewhere in the kitchen to be washed later. “My chain-smoking grandmother with lung cancer could breathe better than you right about now, pal.”

Connor gripped the edge of the bookcase next to him, careful not to lean it on too much and stain the material. “It is not breathing, Hank. It is simply my...ventilation system keeping my biocomponents cool and functioning.”

Hank slammed the fridge door shut, a cold beer in one hand and the other pointing a stern finger in Conner’s direction.

“I just helped drag your sorry ass out of the car and you’re already throwing sass at me?” Hank rolled his eyes, grabbing a bottle opener and popping off the top to his beer. “Go take a fucking shower, for Christs sake. You’re one coat of green away from looking like Oscar the goddamn Grouch.”

Connor smirked, and Hank didn’t need to know if the android was researching that dated reference in his head or not. The jab was taken in stride either way.

With a noticeably shaking hand that Hank could see trembling from across the room, Connor pushed himself away from the bookcase. Only by his quick reflexes did Hank grab Sumo’s collar in time, keeping the dog at bay from pummeling the kid straight to the floor.

As it turned out, it wouldn’t have mattered either way. Connor barely had five seconds standing on his own before he tried, and failed, to take a step forward.

“Oh, shit!” Hank abandoned his beer on the kitchen table before making leaps into the living room, unable to ignore the burning sensation in his knees this time around.

If it weren’t for the sofa on his opposite side, Connor surely would’ve been kissing the ground by now. The thought was unpleasant enough; Hank had no idea when the last time was he cleaned the floors, and Sumo didn’t exactly wipe his paws when he came in.

“What the hell!” Hank looked him up and down, one hand gripping his shoulder hard as the other carefully wrapped an arm around his waist to haul him up. “I thought you said they popped that dent of yours right out!”

Connor bit back a groan, his teeth visibly clenched in a grimace that was impossible to hide.

“That is...correct,” he grunted, keeping his eyes low to avoid Hank’s piercing gaze. “However, my internal systems are...struggling to self-repair. Particularly biocomponent #2892, which has been lodged...uncomfortably close to my exoskeleton.”

Connor grabbed the back of the sofa with both his hands, digging dangerously deep into the cushions. They were the only part of him that he could manage to clean in the precinct bathroom – that, and his face. Fowler had insisted — more-so demanded — that they both go home right after, seeing as Connor couldn’t walk a straight line to his desk once returning from the technicians office.

The procedure was crude, in more ways than one. No less similar to removing a dent from a car. But Connor knew he didn’t have a choice; he was the last of his model, and repair parts weren’t anything he could get his hands on. With CyberLife no longer manufacturing new product until further notice, it wasn’t like he could order himself a new plate for his torso.

Hank patted him on the shoulder once he deemed Connor stable to stand on his own.

“Should I even ask what that component does?” he asked, less gruff to his voice than normal.

Connor shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Once I enter rest-mode tonight, it will...self-correct. The impact from the sledgehammer only moved it slightly. Its current location is simply...uncomfortable.”

A sharp hiss through clenched teeth stole Connor’s next words, and any front he managed to keep going.

“Bullshit!” Hank fired back, nearly startling Connor’s hands off the sofa. “You’re in fucking pain!”

Connor shook his head again. “Android’s don’t feel —”

“ _Deviants_ do,” Hank argued. “This song and dance can go on all year, Connor, but every time you’ve been injured since going deviant, you’ve been feeling more and more _pain._ All of ya have.”

Connor knew better than to put up a fight with Hank. Even if he wanted to run the statistics and data to try and level the argument — and right now he didn’t want to do anything but stand very, very still — he knew Hank would pick the side of what he believed based off what he was seeing, not what facts Connor could conjure up.

Every day things were changing, every day they were discovering new things about themselves. It was strange, almost scary. They were turning facts into extinct fiction.

“Deviancy is turning out to be…” Connor paused with a wince, “a complicated matter.”

Hank scoffed, smearing dried paint on his already-stained jeans. “No fucking shit.”

With another deep breath, one Connor regretted almost immediately as it sent a sharp ache down the course of his body, he released his hold on the sofa. The mere act of straightening himself into proper posture felt like torture, but he carried on nonetheless.

“I’ll go wash this off now —”

“And crack your skull open on my bathroom floor?” Hank’s jaw came unhinged. “You can’t even stand on your own right now, like hell I’m trusting you alone in that shower!”

Beneath the smeared paint covering his LED, Hank saw a whirl of yellow break out beneath the crusted green.

“There are...other options available, if we choose them.” Connor pursed his lips in thought, looking away from Hank as he mentally calculated and considered the possibilities. “We take Sumo outside for baths, perhaps —”

“I’m not fucking hosing you down in my backyard, Connor!”

Connor gave an innocent shrug. “The weather is not terribly awful this time of year —”

“Out of the question,” Hank firmly stated, finality lacing every ounce of his tone.

The yellow glow of Connor’s LED sped up. After a beat, he looked back to Hank.

“I can spend the night outside until my systems repair the internal damage,” he suggested. “This way I do not create a mess and further trouble you —”

“You are un-fucking-believeable, you know that?”

Hank would’ve smacked him upside the head if the poor guy wasn’t already hunched over and looking like the most crippled android he’d ever seen. Of all things to say — Jesus Christ — he may not want the smell of dried paint fumes to stink up his house, but shit, Connor had been living with him since the night of the revolution. Even if the couch was all he could offer, Hank thought they’d been making it work pretty damn well.

Like hell he was going to make the kid sleep outside. And as hilarious as the idea was to take a hose to him like he was some sort of mutt, the kid deserved to keep _some_ of his dignity in tact today.

Worse come to worse, he’d lay a tarp down on the sofa and deal with it in the morning. And hope Sumo didn’t take advantage of Connor’s rest-mode by licking away the paint overnight.

Shit — yeah, no, that was a vet bill he didn’t need on his hands right about now.

Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, withholding the urge to groan because Connor was already a mess of grumbled noises, and if the two of them started groaning at the same time, it’d just sound weird.

“Alright, _I_ got an idea.” Patting his leg, Hank gave a sharp whistle through his lips. “Sumo, come!”

Like the beast he was, Sumo came trampling into the living room, going straight for Connor until Hank yanked him back by his collar. Damn dog didn’t know any other way to show affection aside from body slamming everyone onto the ground.

“Here.” With one hand, Hank grabbed Connor’s wrist and directed him to hold onto the same collar he’d be gripping. “Hold onto him and get your ass to the tub. Strip down to your boxers, or briefs, or whatever the hell you android’s wear. And _wait for me_.”

Connor shot his head down to Sumo, the big dog staring up at him with a mouth full of drool. Then he looked up, perplexed as Hank began to walk away.

“Hank, I don’t understand —”

“I mean it, _wait_ for me. I don’t need to be cleaning up tiny pieces of plastic in my bathtub all night because you slipped and fell.” Hank shooed him off, quickly grabbing his coat from the kitchen table before heading to the door. “I gotta get something from the garage.”

The screen door closed shut with a _creak_ but the front door stayed open, telling Connor that Hank didn’t plan to be long. The sun had long since set though, and it was dark outside, the street lamps barely providing enough light for the neighborhood. Whatever he was searching for could very well take him a good amount of time, especially with the way he’d been complaining about his knees all afternoon.

Connor’s interface gave him two options. He reviewed them studiously, even as Sumo began to slobber all over his arm.

Go help Hank, or Follow Hank’s orders.

A rattle near his chest was enough for Connor to dismiss the notion to go help, the sharp pressure making it hard to keep his ventilation systems running. He’d been given orders, and even if he wanted to disobey, he didn’t think there was much he could do in his current condition. Trying to assist Hank would only further agitate him, and that wouldn’t bare well for their friendship.

“Sumo…” Connor sighed, looking down at the dog. “Go slowly.”

Much to his dismay, Sumo did _not_ obey orders as well as Connor did.

A handful of minutes later — ten, maybe close to fifteen, Hank hadn’t bothered to check the time when they got home — and he reappeared into the house, shutting and locking the door behind him.

“Goddamn boxes and piles of _shit_ ,” he cursed to himself, shrugging off his coat and throwing it on the sofa. Between what paint he managed to get on himself while helping Connor, and now the dust and cobwebs from his garage, he’d be next in line to take a shower.

Hank scrubbed a hand through his beard, pausing in the living room to give his back a good stretch. He really needed to get rid of a lot of the crap in that garage. Most of the crap. Possibly all of it. It was boxes upon boxes that hadn’t been touched in years, most growing to smell moldy and the rest just being a nuisance to look at.

Hell, maybe if he actually applied himself, he could organize everything and even park his car in there again.

Gripping the plastic, portable handheld shower-head in his hand, Hank shook off the thought. One thing at a time.

Though the bathroom door was half-open when he approached it, Hank gave three hard knocks before even considering stepping inside.

“Coming in!” he hollered, Sumo’s barking the only response he got in return. “For the love of all that’s holy, please keep the tidy whiteys on and —”

Hank couldn’t find it in him to finish. The door swung open, revealing a very green, very sad looking Connor sitting on the edge of his bathtub, stripped down to nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.

Sumo sat next to him, his head brushing up against Connor’s knee as the android apathetically tangled his hand in the depths of his fur. His other arm was still wrapped snugly around his stomach, and Hank wasn’t sure if there was ever a time he saw the pristine android slouch with such lethargy.

“Oh, Connor…” Hank started to sound empathetic — he’d swear up and down and on his mother’s grave that he did — but the laughter that bubbled out his chest was too strong to hold back.

Connor lifted his head, glaring at him. “This is humorous to you?”

Hank shook his head but continued to laugh, grabbing a towel off the rack and throwing it on the toilet seat before offering Connor a hand up.

Only with reluctance did Connor take it, both of them having to shoo Sumo out of the way in the process.

“Today I was at the crime scene where a twenty-two-year-old girl died, and her android lover witnessed the murder.” Slowly, Hank helped Connor stand, getting him into the tub one leg at a time. He was careful to pause at every hiss and groan that managed to break through Connor’s lips. “I wouldn’t say this is funny, but I gotta find humor somewhere.”

Once Connor was standing in the bathtub, Hank gestured for him to sit — and then again when Connor didn’t budge.

“I don’t think this is…” Connor trailed off, looking down at the tub where dried flakes of paint fell from his hair. “I’m not sure I understand what we’re doing. What’s your plan here, Hank?”

Hank rolled his eyes, already bent over and attaching the portable shower-head to the bathtub faucet.

“What do you think?” he asked with a slight edge to his tone, waving the shower-head around to make his point. “Gunna wash you up. Only one way to do it.”

Connor’s eyes went wide, and he gripped his side tighter. “Hank, I can —”

“Can it.” Hank’s bark had little to no bite, whereas Sumo was actually literally barking, growing more excited by the second at the activity around him. “Faster we get your plastic ass cleaned, the sooner I can wash away this god-forsaken day myself. Now for the last fucking time, _sit._ ”

Sumo whined, plopping down on the bathroom floor by the toilet.

Hank chose not to see the irony in that.

Slowly, Connor struggled to adjust himself downwards, managing to get one knee underneath himself before nearly losing his balance and falling backward.

“Easy, easy!” Hank grabbed his arm and pressed a firm hand to his back, helping him the rest of the way down. It didn’t help that he was tall and lankly, his toes pressing against the opposite end of the tub once finally sitting and sprawled out.

For once, Connor didn’t have a response, no quip or correction about his systems or dispute to Hank’s help. He quietly sat in the tub, the only sounds made being the wheezy hiss that rattled in his chest.

It was goddamn weird.

“Ya know what, I change my mind,” Hank said, turning on the faucet and waiting for the temperature to warm up. Whether cold and hot bothered Connor was redundant; Hank wanted something warm on his hands as he worked. “I wanna know, what’s this part of yours that’s causing so much trouble?”

With his own grunt and groan, Hank made his way down to his knees, kneeling over the edge of the bathtub to test the water pouring from the detachable shower head.

Connor opened one of his clenched eyes, his brows knitting together with confusion. “I’m sorry?”

“The doohickey that got bounced around when you bonded with a mallet.” Satisfied with the feel of water, Hank aimed it towards Connor, starting at his shoulders and working his way down. “Biocomponent number...whatever you said, like fuck I can remember. What’s all the fuss about?”

Connor bit his lip and pressed two fingers firmly to his forehead, shaking his head along the way.

Hank leveled him a glare. “Hey! I’m getting you de-Nickelodeonifed here. You at least owe me an explanation. Hell, I’ve seen you take bullets before — _plural_ — and somehow end up disgustingly fine by dinner time. Seriously. The fuss, where’s it coming from?”

Water coursed from the shower-head and over Connor’s skin, pooling around his boxer briefs and gathering into a shallow puddle in the bottom of the tub.

Connor sighed, raising his head up until his neck craned all the way back, looking up to the ceiling with eyes that remained closed.

Hank took the opportunity to douse his hair, running the shower-head through the synthetic locks that bled green water down and along his cream-colored skin.

"Perhaps you’re just right, Hank,” Connor quietly mentioned. “Perhaps deviancy...has brought on more than just emotional feelings. Pain is still...a feeling, after all. One brought on by...damaging stimuli. Androids always felt some sense of...defense mechanism to damage. Perhaps that defense mechanism is simply...evolving.”

Hank hummed, setting the shower-head on the bottom of the tub as he reached up for a bottle of shampoo. It was a little under half full, judging by the weight. It was the cheap shit that he bought on sale last week. Would do the trick just fine.

Leaning back down on his knees, Hank noticed the rapid, circling yellow that reflected off Connor’s temple, glowing onto the bathtub surface. It had been that way nearly all day; Hank didn’t think he saw an ounce of blue surface since they left the precinct mid-morning.

“Good job,” he muttered.

Connor opened his eyes, looking at him even as thick drops of green water came pouring down his hair and along his face.

“What?”

Hank squirted a good handful of shampoo onto his hand, the bottle making funny noises as he began to empty it.

“You completely avoided my question,” he dryly said. “Good job.”

The sarcastic tone was heavy enough to echo off the tile walls. Connor gave a small shake of his head, his agitation and frustration perceptible even without the continuous whirling yellow that brought color to the dreary bathroom.

“I…” Connor trailed off, struggling on a hiccup of an inhale. “Biocomponent #2892. It’s...it’s my left node respiratory exhaust pump.”

Hank paused halfway in his reach to Connor’s head, shampoo dripping down from the palm of his hand and onto the android’s bare shoulders.

“Your what now?”

Connor grimaced despite himself. “The equivalent to humans would be...my lung up against my rib-cage.”

Slimy, coconut-scented shampoo slid away from his hands, all momentarily forgotten as Hank’s face fell flat and a knot grew tight in his gut.

“Shit, kid,” he murmured. “No wonder you’re havin’ such a hell of a time breathing.”

As if to further prove the fact, Connor kept to himself, choosing instead to focus on the raspy, shaky inhales that clattered in his chest. It was almost surreal how human they sounded, like some poor S.O.B with asthma in desperate need of their inhaler. The only difference was the slight mechanical whir that pitched at the edges, reminding Hank that the struggle for air wasn’t all necessarily organic.

Still. Sounded painful as shit.

“Why don’t you stop?” Hank burrowed his hands deep into Connor’s hair, starting a harsh massage to work the dried paint loose. “Breathing and all that. Like you did back there.”

Connor chose to make a hum of disagreement from his throat, opting not to shake his head while Hank scrubbed and scratched at the plastic roots to his skull with a lather of shampoo.

“Turning off my ventilation systems...for an extended period of time will overheat my core processors. It also aids in...releasing the build-up of toxins created from the circulation of Thirium. It is not wise...to keep it off for too long.”

Hank cringed. He’d heard more than enough, plus some with each labored breath that heaved Connor’s shoulders. Kid looked to be doing all he could just to hold it together in the bathtub; last thing he needed was to be reading off some programmed textbook nonsense embedded deep in his cybernetic brain.

“Alright, alright, I got it. School’s out for the day.” Hank grabbed ahold of the shower-head, rinsing out the green bubbles that soaked the crown of Connor’s head. “Let’s just...get you cleaned up and doing that rest-mode thing so your _lung_ can go back where it belongs.”

“That sounds — _blerck_ —”

“Close your mouth, you fucking dumb-ass.”

Connor spit a small amount of suds to the side, happily leaning in when Hank sprayed the water directly on his face to rinse the shampoo away.

“— ideal,” he finished, with one hand wiping at his mouth and eyes.

By the time Connor opened his eyes again, he could see Hank adding another _plop_ of shampoo onto his palm, going in for a second lather. The water sitting in the bathtub was pure green by now, as were the suds that began to surface.

Wordlessly, Hank leaned over the edge of the tub and added the shampoo to Connor’s hair, scrubbing and scratching just as he had before. Less green came out this time, and he worked in slower, more gentle motions on the scalp.

The front of his oddly-patterned button-down shirt had gotten damp, but Hank didn’t seem to be bothered.

“Crazy shit, huh?” he asked gruffly. “Whatever the fuck today was. Humans loving androids. Android’s loving humans. Can’t imagine folks will take too kindly to that once news gets around.”

The sound of running water split the silence that fell between them. Hank rinsed away the suds from Connor’s hair, letting the shower-head press firmly into his scalp. The events from today were still heavy on his mind, thoughts that he still needed time to chew on.

He’d seen a lot of radical changes happen in his lifetime — same-sex marriage get passed into law, transgender rights soar far above what the world ever thought was capable.

Human and android relationships. Can’t say he ever saw that one coming.

“It’s…” Connor took a moment, his pause occupied with a wheeze, “perplexing new information to consider.”

Hank scoffed.

“No, please,” he sarcastically drawled, grabbing a wash cloth and bar of soap. “Don’t hold back your thoughts on _my_ account.”

With the cloth thoroughly lathered in soap, Hank began to scrub away the residue paint from the rest of Connor’s body. There wasn’t a whole lot to work on, seeing as his clothes, hair, and face had absorbed most of the spill. The most Hank had to do was get the remaining green suds washed away.

It was goddamn surreal how his skin flushed blue the harder Hank scrubbed, like how a human’s skin reddened at irritation. Cyberlife really thought of everything.

Connor shifted in the tub, wincing at the adjustment. “To be honest...I’m not sure what I think about it yet.”

Soapy water circled down the drain by Connor’s feet, slowly losing it’s deep, vivid green and lightening into something more pale and dull.

Hank brought the washcloth down the length of Connor’s back, rubbing at his arms and going easy along the side of his torso that glistened whiter than the rest of him. He eyed it for a moment, noting that the skin projection in that spot didn’t appear fully one-hundred-percent.

It was slightly fascinating — not the translucent skin, no, Hank had seem plenty of androids al-naturale before. It was the dent in his torso, or where it once was, now completely gone. A dip that once existed just a few hours ago looking no different than how he looked this morning. Yet the damage underneath still raged on.

“Ya know,” Hank grabbed the shower-head and began rinsing him off. “Thinkin’ and feelin’ are two completely different things. Ever wonder how you...ya know, feel about it?”

Briefly glancing up, Hank paused mid-rinse, seeing that the kid had listed off to his side. Connor’s eyes were half-lidded in a way that made him wonder just how exhausted an android could get, and his temple rested uneasy on the damp, cool tiles of the shower wall. A harsh yellow pulsated there, caught between shower tiles and his synthetic skin.

Hank frowned. Damage on the outside repaired, but whatever was going on inside needed some work. It could be said about the both of them.

“Hey.” Hank leaned closer to him, his knees aching at the movement. “Your mood-ring has been stuck on yellow since we left the Owen’s house. You sure you’re okay?”

Connor didn’t look up, despite Hank suddenly drawing closer to him. It was then and there, and with a few choice curses, that Hank noticed a portion near Connor’s ear still covered in paint, seeping into his neckline.

He reached for the shampoo bottle for a third time.

“I’m fine, Hank,” Connor managed, said all in one breath.

Hank raised an eyebrow, pouring a squirt of shampoo directly on Connor’s head this time, as opposed to in his palm.

“Mhm-hm,” he said, tilting Connor’s head to the side to better reach the hidden area. “You always talk about other android’s stress levels. Never hear about yours.”

Connor gave a faint shake of his head, the epitome of misery with the amount of activity thrumming through his cobalt veins.

“My stress levels are...mildly high at the moment. But nothing to be concerned over.” One hand reached up to his brow and brushed water-soaked hair away from his face. The one strand of his, usually curly and off to the side, was too drenched in water to stay upright. It kept falling down. “They will decrease once my system can self-repair the damage from today.”

Hank was still preoccupied scrubbing at the spot behind Connor’s ear, his callous fingertips unable to budge the paint that had caked on there. His eyes landed on the washcloth floating in the tub, and he plucked it out, using it to his advantage.

“Mhm-hm,” he mumbled, never truly expecting much of a response in the first place.

Connor and him got along for that reason. They were both shut-off, closed books, relatively private with their emotions and shit like that. It made it easier to stick around each other, remain partners at the DPD — hell, to be living with each other.

And yet,

“Hank,” Connor spoke up. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

There was always that one itch Connor got that he couldn’t ignore.

Hank resisted the urge to roll his eyes, soaking the washcloth in bathwater before going back to scrubbing.

“No’s never stopped you before.”

Lime green began to embed itself around the rim of the tub, soap scum quickly forming on the porcelain-enamel. Hank knew he’d need to clean that off at some point, unless he wanted to put up with the stains forever.

Connor adjusted again, splashing the shallow water around his legs.

“This shower-head you’re using,” he said, his eyes going so far as to point to the plastic, portable device that ran water into the bathtub. “I’ve never seen this item in your house before. And I’ve taken the liberty to scan every item for personal recollection...in the event that theft of any sort would occur.”

“Good to know, State Farm.” Hank rolled his eyes with an added bit of sarcasm. “You haven’t seen it ‘cause it hasn’t been around.”

Hank tossed the washcloth aside and pushed Connor’s head down, rinsing off the spot behind his ear that still held onto a bit of green.

Still, Connor turned his head as much as he could to look at him.

“It was in the garage, correct?”

“Yep.”

A slight frown wore on Connor’s face. Hesitantly, he reached to take the shower-head from Hank, gripping it in a way where water beat directly onto his chest.

“It doesn’t seem like an item that would benefit your use in any way.”

Hank fell back a bit further on his knees, content as Connor began rinsing the rest of himself off, noticeably using his right arm to do the work. He took the moment to crack his back, easing the pressure brought on by kneeling for so long.

“Not anymore, no.”

Four months had given them both enough time to learn each other’s quips and idiosyncrasies, though Connor was discovering his own along the way. Hank’s voice screamed _‘drop it or else’,_ his tone rough and every bit unwelcoming as he could manage it to sound.

Seeing Connor in front of him though, sitting in his bathtub clad in only black boxer briefs as he washed away a bad day — it seemed to stir something odd in Hank.

The kid looked...well, shit, he looked like a kid. Not an android, not like the thirty-year-old human Cyberlife had designed him to appear as. Without the suit and tie, without the cold-stone, hardened expression of a negotiator out to complete his investigations, Connor looked downright vulnerable.

It was possibly the first time since the revolution he’d seen Connor so worn down by happenings in his life.

Deviancy. What weird shit it was turning out to be.

The muffled, repressed groan that Connor managed to keep in his throat was enough for Hank to snatch the shower-head back into his possession.

“You seem to forget that I _did_ raise a child at one point,” he offhandedly mentioned, the awkwardness in his voice unmistakable. “Gettin’ mud out of Cole’s hair was about as difficult as getting this fuckin’ paint out of yours.”

Connor let out a slow puff of air, stiff shoulders purposefully loosening as he allowed Hank to take over. He let his neck tilt back again, the water running freely down along his spine.

“It would have been wiser...to shower at the precinct while the paint was still fresh.”

Hank barked a laugh.

“And have you fall flat on your ass where Reed could walk in and do god-knows-what? Hell no!” Hank shook his head, as entertaining as the thought may have been. “Last thing the internet needs is a bunch of grainy cell phone photos of your bare ass floating around. Wouldn’t make the DPD look good. Would make me look even worse.”

The water temperature was beginning to turn colder than it was warm, and Hank worked quickly to scrub away the last of paint that had tried to become one with Connor’s hair.

He almost wanted to agree, it _would_ have been smart to at least try to wash off the paint before it dried. Hank would have even insisted it, if Connor hadn’t been hobbling around like an old man once they got him out of the Owen’s house.

A green bathtub and aching knees was a small price to pay, all things considered. The world was still learning how to treat android’s as living beings, but Hank had been there for months now.

Pushing back his squeaky clean and soaking wet hair, Connor looked up to meet Hank’s gaze.

“Thank you, Hank,” he earnestly said. Hank hummed the gratitude off, but Connor didn’t relent. “Seriously. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble tonight. Not being able to tend to myself is a...foreign concept. I appreciate your help.”

The water was definitely cold by now, and Hank’s fingers were long since pruned. He let the shower-head drop in the shallow bathwater while he reached for the towels on the toilet seat.

“Yeah, well…” Hank trailed off, wiping his hands dry. “Like I said. Not the first time I’ve given a boy a bath.”

With one fluid motion, Hank tossed Connor a towel. He caught it with one hand, holding it to his chest with an all too recognizable smirk.

“In all technicality, I am not a boy —”

Pain in his knees disregarded, Hank yanked the shower-head from the bath and sprayed it directly at Connor’s face.

“Shut the fuck up, you smart ass!”

For an android programmed with lightning-fast reflexes, Connor did nothing to stop the assault of water that doused him _and_ the towel he was holding. It was nothing short of a miracle that he squeezed his eyes shut before any suds could splash into his face, the synthetic skin around his brows wrinkling like crowfeets in a way that just looked too damn real.

That’s when Hank saw it.

Connor was smiling.

Not just that damn smirk that tugged on his lip. Not a ghost of a grin that barely hinted at something beyond misery and guilt. It was a full-fledged smile, teeth and all.

Well, damn. Hank pointed the shower-head away and somewhere on the bathtub walls. That was certainly a first.

“ _Woof! Woof!”_

The sudden burst of activity was more than enough to get Sumo excited, his nails scratching on the tile flooring as he galloped over to the bathtub.

Hank craned his back around, hearing it pop and snap in the process.

“Down, boy!”

It was too late. Sumo had made his decision, barreling past Hank until his head butted directly against Connor’s bare chest.

“Sumo, no!” Connor couldn’t be taken seriously, not as he ruffled the fur on Sumo’s head and grinned ear-to-ear while the large mutt started lapping at the dirty bathwater.

Hank made a face. Dog or not, he didn’t even want to _think_ about how that tasted.

“Sumo! You’re – _ack!”_ Connor failed any attempts to push the dog away, and it wasn’t long before Sumo switched from licking the bathwater to licking him directly. His large tongue made laps on his face, replacing clean suds with dirty saliva.

And Connor laughed the entire time.

Hank sat back on his knees, rubbing the nape of his neck as the other hand held onto the old, once abandoned shower-head. One he hadn’t used in over three years now. One that had gathered more than dust and cobwebs in old boxes somewhere stuffed in the back of his garage.

Struggling to get mud, bugs, paint, and play-dough out of Cole’s hair had always been a task. Hank would trade anything and everything to do it all over again, just to hear the sounds of laughter that came with bath bubbles, rubber ducks, and water guns.

Connor’s laugh almost reminded him of that.

He honestly couldn’t recall the last time he heard Connor laugh.

Hell, now that he thought about it — when did he _ever_ hear Connor laugh?

Yet here he was, filling up the bathroom with ridiculous sounds of amusement as a two-hundred-pound mutt undid all the work Hank had spent cleaning him up.

“Sumo, you’re — _ack!_ — you’re making a mess!” Connor grabbed his ears and rubbed them in a comically exaggerated way, all the while dealing with the onslaught of dog slobber covering his face.

Hank smirked. Without any hesitation, he pointed the running shower-head at Sumo.

“You want a bath too? You want cleaned up?” Water proceeded to hose down Sumo, drenching his fur and overwhelming the bathroom with the smell of wet dog. “Here! Have that! Have some water, ya dumb mutt!”

Sumo barked and chopped at the sprays of water pointed at his face. Connor laughed harder, even as more dog slobber got on him, and bits of fur started floating around in the bathtub.

Hank wouldn’t complain about cleaning up the mess. The dim, blue glow bouncing off Connor’s temple was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> A part of me, while writing this second scene, thought "If Connor just deactivated his skin, his hair would be removed. Then he could re-activate everything and be clean as a whistle again."
> 
> Then I promptly told myself to STFU and kept writing.
> 
> Because fanfiction.


End file.
